


In Bloom

by beetle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/F, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Tree, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Yavin 4, post-TFA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7568350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War is over. The Republic was triumphant and, in the aftermath, has merged the Resistance into its military hierarchy. There is, but for a few insurgencies by remnants of the First Order, peace in the galaxy, at last—for however long it lasts. And on Yavin 4, the Force Tree . . . is in bloom. My first attempt at “sex-pollen made them do it.” But there’s sort of a plot, too. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue & 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Warnings: Spoilers for Episode VII. Mpreg. Set post-TFA by approximately three years.

**Prologue**

 

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bantha. . . .”

 

Wide-eyed, Kes Dameron stepped off his back porch and into the grassy field that passed for a yard, but was really just neatly-tended acreage. His incredulous eyes were locked on a particular tree—one of many—that dotted the Dameron property. This one, neither especially tall nor broad nor green, stood out, like quartz among gravel. It seemed more alive, more _there_ , somehow than the other haphazardly-planted trees in viewing distance.

 

Its branches swayed slightly, even when there was no breeze, it seemed, and they were swaying quite noticeably now, when there _was_ _one_ , those branches laden with delicate-looking white and indigo blossoms that were vaguely orchid-like. A sweet, musky scent pervaded the air, heavy and almost seductive . . . inviting.

 

Neither blossoms nor scent had been there, yesterday evening, when Kes—like his late wife and their son before him had always used to—said his good nights to the strangely vibrant tree gifted to them by Luke Skywalker when it was little more than a cutting.

 

No, these . . . _blossoms_ were _new_. Not once had Kes seen their like in three decades. Nor had he expected to ever see such, especially this late in Yavin 4’s humid summer.

 

But, unexpected or not, the fact was . . . the Force Tree in Kes Dameron’s backyard was . . . _in bloom_.

 

**I**

 

“Welcome to Yavin 4!” Poe Dameron announced expansively, spreading his arms as he led the way down the _Falcon’s_ loading ramp, never minding that of the group of them, only Rey hadn’t been before. “Home of the best _sofrito_ in the galaxy and also home of one of the only two known Force Trees in the universe! Watch your step and thank you for flying Falcon Air!”

 

Immediately behind him was BB-8, whose beeps were less impressed and more [Get out of my way, I need to get to a charger!]

 

Rolling his eyes, Poe stepped aside and watched his droid race toward the fronts steps of the Dameron home. To the right on the stairs was a wide board, nailed down, which acted as a ramp for BB-8 and any other astromechs and droids that came and went, including Poe’s mother’s old R6 unit. BB-8 raced up the board, nearly running over one of Kes’s cats at the top, which hissed at the droid as it nonetheless sprinted out of BB-8’s way.

 

“Boy, it gets really grumpy when it needs a recharge,” Finn said, sounding amused. Then he leaned in to murmur, his arms sliding around Poe’s waist, chin leaning on Poe’s shoulder. “Just like its master.”

 

Snorting, Poe glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Commander Dameron, are you casting aspersions on an Admiral of the Republic?”

 

Grinning back, Finn bussed his husband’s cheek. “Me? Say something less than glowing about the Best Pilot in the Republic—nay, the _Galaxy_?” Chuckling, Finn leaned in for another kiss. “I happen to think your pessimistic grumbling, grunting, and glaring when you’re short on sleep _and_ caf is sexy as hell. That was a compliment, not an aspersion.”

 

“Somehow, I don’t _feel_ complimented,” Poe pouted doubtfully, teasing Finn’s lips with his own. “You’re just getting sneakier with your insults. Clearly the bloom is off the rose of this marriage. I want a divorce.”

 

“Fine,” Finn agreed, nuzzling his husband’s neck. “I guess that means I’ll have to resign myself to not making breakfast in bed for a certain someone, no more giving that someone massages after long days spent training recruits . . . no more giving him blowjobs in the shower . . . life’s about to get _very_ boring for _at least_ one of us. . . .”

 

“Whoa, whoa, let’s not get hasty, here,” Poe said, turning and pulling Finn into his arms and dipping him as if they’d been dancing. Finn squawked and held on for dear life (the last time Poe had done this had been at their wedding reception, six months ago. And he’d dropped his newlywed husband, resulting in a concussion, and a _very_ disappointing and headache-y wedding night). “You’ve been off on missions since right after our honeymoon, honey. Add to that the damn debriefings, and I’ve barely seen you in the past six months. No,” Poe said, holding Finn’s gaze with his own heated and promising one. “I’m gonna take you to bed and not let you out till our Leave is over and it’s time to go rejoin the Republic.”

 

Finn’s grin shone out again. “Is that a promise, Fleet Admiral Dameron?”

 

“Mm. On every shiny medal I own, Commander Dameron,” Poe swore, leaning in for another kiss. Just then, a mechanical sigh sounded from further up the ramp.

 

[Excuse me, but could you two imbecilic douche-nozzles get off the damn ramp? You’re in my way.]

 

Finn rolled his eyes and Poe chuckled, straightening them up and tugging his husband off the ramp and out of R2’s way. “Sooo-rry.”

 

[Apology accepted. Prick.] The droid trundled past and toward the house, beeping to itself about the planetary humidity and the possibility of rust.

 

“I think R2 might be a bad influence on BB-8,” Rey mused as she stepped out of the ship, face squinching in that adorable, wrinkle-nosed squint that, had she been there, Jess would’ve kissed off her face. “BB-8 didn’t used to be that . . . moody. Even when it needed a recharge.”

 

Linking their fingers, Poe pulled Finn closer to him, kissing his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? BB’s _always_ been moody. It just likes you so much that it only shows you its sweet side. Mostly.”

 

“Hmm,” Rey murmured pensively, stepping down the ramp to make room for Chewbacca, who looked around and sighed.

 

[This humidity is gonna be hell on my fur,] he said, shaking his head and pausing to squint into the hazy distance while Rey looked around with the quiet awe she still, three years away from Jakku, held for any even remotely green planet. At her side she held her old staff and, less obtrusively, hanging from her belt, was her double-bladed lightsaber.

 

(Once, in an epic training battle, Poe and Finn had seen Rey use both lightsaber staff and regular staff at the same time against Luke Skywalker. She’d won that battle and one of Luke’s rare, but proud smiles.

 

“I will _never_ be _that_ good,” Finn had leaned in to whisper just as proudly as Luke had smiled, taking his then buddy’s hand and squeezing it excitedly before letting their hands settle on his own “ordinary” lightsaber. His smile had been so big and bright, Poe had fought not to kiss him—a fight he’d been slowly losing since the moment FN-2187 had taken off his helmet on the _Finalizer_.

 

“That doesn’t make you . . . I dunno . . . sad?” Poe had asked breathlessly, trying not to stare at Finn’s mouth. Finn had laughed, linking their fingers and swinging his legs like a child.

 

“Are you kidding me? With great power comes even greater responsibility. That’s for people like Luke and Rey. _Good_ people with unerring moral compasses.”

 

“But you _are_ good people with an unerring moral compass, Finn,” Poe had said softly. Finn had glanced at him briefly before giving Poe’s hand another quick squeeze and letting go.

 

“If that were the case, I’d be a Jedi, too. Instead, I’m a force-sensitive soldier. A Pathfinder who wields a lightsaber passably well. And there’s nothing wrong with that, Poe. In fact, I’m _damn_ _proud_ of that.” And with that, he’d leaned in and kissed Poe’s cheek gently, before hoping off the barricade between the theater and salle for his turn with the Jedi Master. Leaving Poe to touch his cheek and smile as he stared after Finn, even as sweaty, panting Rey came to sit beside him and elbow him occasionally, telling him to _close your mouth before you start to drool_.)

 

Poe pulled Finn against him, smiling when his husband’s lightsaber—which, when activated, was a warm golden color, unlike the electric, buzzing blue of Luke’s saber, or the intense, bleeding green of Rey’s—bumped against his leg.

 

“Hey, baby, you know Pops and pretty much the entire county is gonna wanna throw us a quote-unquote _real_ wedding and reception while we’re here, right? Since we held the first wedding and reception on Naboo.” Poe nuzzled Finn’s ear as the other man groaned. “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart, it won’t be _that_ bad. I promise.”

 

“Poe, how many more concussions must I suffer to prove I love you?” Finn whined pitifully. Poe’s lips twitched.

 

“I swear, honey, just _one_ more.” He glanced up the ramp when motion caught his eye, and smirked. “We can even get Luke to put the seal on the deal, this time.”

 

Luke’s sandy-colored eyebrows lifted suspiciously as he stepped down the ramp, for once in dark civvies instead of his Jedi robes. His recently clean-shaven face seemed boyish without the beard, in a way it hadn’t since _Poe_ was a child. “Get Luke to put the seal on what deal, Poe?”

 

“On me and Finn’s Yavin 4 wedding-stravaganza! C’mon . . . you know you wanna,” Poe wheedled when Luke looked slightly horrified.

 

“Poe, how many more concussions must Finn suffer to prove he loves you?” he asked wearily, and Rey and Chewbacca burst out laughing, leaving Finn to nod, Poe to roll his eyes, and Luke to say: “What?”

 

Then everyone was turning toward the house as Kes Dameron came out onto the porch, waving and calling their names.

 

#

 

The _Falcon_ had arrived in early afternoon, local time and, despite Rey’s excitement to _at last_ see the Tree she’d heard so much about—to sit and commune with it, as she had so many times with Luke’s Tree—after an initial perusal of the Tree with Luke, she let herself be shooed off by her Master when Poe and Finn came to pester her about going into town.

 

“Go, enjoy the sights, while you can, Padawan. We’ll spend enough time meditating and studying the Tree, starting in the morning,” he finally said, after Rey had stood with her hand on the bark, looking up into the branches, leaves, and blooms for several minutes.

 

Kes Dameron, who’d been watching them from the back porch, arms crossed, craggy, handsome face set in Poe’s familiar, charming smile, had warned the boys: “But be back by dinner, or else Luke, the cats, and I won’t save you any. And bring your appetites. I’m cooking enough for a small militia.”

 

Poe had rolled his eyes and dragged Finn and Rey off to the garage where Kes kept the family’s various speeders, which were in various states of repair—and he’d been hinting around at both Rey and Poe already that he wanted their input on repairs for the non-running ones—with Chewbacca following along behind, talking about a particular pertha weed-den he hadn’t been to in decades.

 

Rey didn’t even ask. She didn’t want to know.

 

Instead, she glanced back at her Master, who was standing almost exactly as she had, hand on the bark of the Tree and staring up into its branches. Before she was dragged around to the front of the house toward the garage, Kes had uncrossed his arms and was approaching the Tree, as well. He was, she’d noted, an inch taller than Poe and markedly stockier, built like a brawler, wearing a loud, button down shirt, cargo shorts, and brown sandals. His straight, salt and pepper hair, however, was still military short and precise, unlike Luke’s long, dirty-blond hair.

 

Kes joined Luke at the Tree and placed his hand on the bark with the familiarity of practice and for a moment, Rey thought she saw . . . something. Too faint to be an aura, but too much of _something_ to be _nothing_. It surrounded the tree, her Master, and Kes Dameron.

 

Then she blinked, and it was gone. And so was she, the side of the house blocking her view.

 

#

 

Kes Dameron was not, by nature, an excitable man. Nor was he a nervous man. Even— _especially_ —when the situation actually warranted some nerves.

 

No, Kes Dameron had always been a cool head, under fire and not. Yet as he stood under the Tree (which rained sweet, fragrant blossoms and indigo pollen that would no doubt wreak havoc with Kes’s allergies, eventually), watching Luke and awaiting some acknowledgment—other than the tepidly serene _hello_ and handshake he’d gotten from the man earlier—he had to fight the urge to shuffle and shift. Under his hand, the Tree seemed to . . . almost thrum. For a few moments, Kes absently imagined that he was feeling Luke’s heartbeat through the Tree. Stranger things had, after all, happened to Kes in his six and a half decades.

 

(Not stranger by _much_ , but still.)

 

On the heels of that supposition, he also remembered the last time he’d felt the real thing—felt Luke’s heartbeat under his hands, his lips . . . against his own pounding heart. Remembered comfort shared and a burden halved for at least a little while, their faces wet with Luke’s tears, his own face hot with Luke’s hoarse, humid cries and his back stinging from welts and gouges caused by Luke’s blunt nails gaining purchase in Kes’s flesh every time Kes rocked into him. . . .

 

That hadn’t been the first time they’d shared a relatively stable, flat surface. But it _had_ been the last. Right after the clusterfuck that had been Ben Solo’s betrayal of the Light. They’d never spoken of it—the sex or the betrayal—but that had always been their way, hadn’t it? Since the night after Shara’s funeral, after Kes had put Poe to bed with three of his favorite stories of Shara’s old missions, he’d stepped out of his son’s room, eased quietly down the hall to the guestroom Luke had been staying in and knocked, and. . . .

 

The rest had been history, so to speak.

 

History they never talked about.

 

Now, however, after a decade and a half since last seeing this man in person, let alone touching him, Kes found that he couldn’t bear _not_ talking about it, any longer. At first the silence had been welcome—even necessary. But now . . . it was deafening. _Strangling_. This silence made it all but impossible for Kes to say what he wanted—no, _needed_ to say after all these years.

 

_I’ve missed you, Luke. I miss you when you’re not here. You make me feel less alone. I think I could love you, if you gave me the chance. . . ._

The words had been rattling around Kes’s head—around his _heart_ —for at least twenty years.

 

Add to _all that_ the customary Yavin 4 humidity, and Kes Dameron was one slightly sweaty, slightly _nervous_ man.

 

Under his hand, the Tree seemed to thrum a little harder, and from that, Kes drew some measure of strength.

 

“Luke,” he began hesitantly, staring at the green-brown bark under his hand, but watching Luke from the corner of his eye.

 

“How’ve you been, Kes?” Luke asked softly, turning to look at Kes, who swallowed, and focused on his work-roughened hand.

 

“I’ve been . . . surviving,” he settled on. He sensed more than saw Luke’s sad, serene smile.

 

“Surviving, huh? Is that all?”

 

Kes shrugged, suddenly irritable and impatient, his hand clenching slightly on the bark. “I guess. I dunno. What do you want me to say, Luke?”

 

“Whatever’s true for you.”

 

Barking a rueful laugh, Kes shook his head. “Since when is that how it works between us, Luke?” Now, Kes looked at Luke, met those guileless, infinitely caring blue eyes, and felt terribly guilty, though he didn’t know why. “Since when do you care about what’s true for me?”

 

Luke sighed. “Kes . . . I’ve _always_ cared—”

 

“Then why do you always _leave_?”

 

A blink. “I’m a Jedi, Kes. I have duties—”

 

“That’s not what I meant, Luke, and you know it.” Kes forced a scowl off his face. Luke didn’t deserve to be scowled at no matter how hurt Kes’s feelings were. No matter how _long_ they’d been hurting. “Look, never mind. I shouldn’tve . . . I’m gonna go get dinner started so it’ll be ready when the kids get back.”

 

“Wait, Kes,” Luke said softly, just as Kes turned away, just before his hand would have left the bark of the Tree. Kes paused, eyes on the house, as Luke’s hand—the metal one—settled on his shoulder. “You want to know why I left all those times?”

 

The question was not rhetorical, and Kes sighed. “I dunno, Luke, do I?”

 

“Force help me, you sounded just like a Jedi.” When Kes snorted, Luke laughed. “We’re an annoying lot, aren’t we?”

 

“Maker, _yes_ ,” Kes agreed, unable to help looking back at Luke. Unable to help the smile that crossed his face. “Annoying, occasionally sanctimonious, dense, self-sacrificing, unbearably good, unquestionably kind, and terribly sweet.”

 

Luke blushed, looking down. “You’re still as much of a sweet-talker as you ever were, Dameron.”

 

“What can I say? You give an old soldier a lot to work with.”

 

Luke’s brow furrowed. “At first . . . the first couple times after we . . . I left because I knew there’d never be a place for me here, not really. And it hurt—gods, you don’t even _know_ how much that _hurt_!—but I could handle it. Seeing you every couple of years and pretending that we could have more than just the occasional roll in the hay.” Looking up, Luke took a deep breath, his eyes shining rather a lot. “But I always left before I could really delude myself into believing. . . .

 

“And then _Ben_ . . . and then . . . you were so kind and loving to me. You took care of me, Kes. And the way you looked at me, I just . . . I knew that what I had wanted since . . . practically the moment I met you, was within my reach. Could actually _happen_ , like I’d always wanted. Only . . . I couldn’t. Not after what happened. What I _let_ happen. What I let Snoke do to my nephew. It was all my fault, you see, and I didn’t _deserve_ —”

 

“Luke Skywalker, if you _dare_ finish that sentence, I’ll _belt_ you,” Kes growled, grasping Luke’s biceps and pushing him against the Tree. The gesture shook free the tears that’d been standing out in Luke’s eyes even as he chuckled.

 

“Wow, Kes. Your style of courtship is . . . quite romantical.” Luke grinned when Kes laughed again, a bit desperately.

 

“I didn’t know whether you were alive or dead—sometimes I told myself that if you _were_ dead, I’d know it. _Feel it_ , when I touched this Tree. That you _had_ to be alive because this Tree—this _world_ was still standing.” Kes leaned down till his forehead touched Luke’s. Despite the heat and humidity, Luke’s forehead was cool and dry. “Luke . . . I’ve missed you. I miss you when you’re not here. You make me feel less alone, and . . . if you’re willing to give me a chance . . . I’ll spend the rest of my life proving how much I love you.”

 

Luke sighed again, shaking his head. “How would we even—I mean, I will _literally_ be gadding about this galaxy until it explodes or for at least six weeks after I drop dead in my tracks. There’s so much _work_ that needs doing and sometimes . . . sometimes I’m the only one who can _do_ it. Kes . . . who knows how often I’d make it back to Yavin 4. To _you_. Or for how long.”

 

Kes searched Luke’s eyes. “Do you love me?”

 

Luke blushed, a wry, self-deprecating smile curving his spare mouth. “Since the day we met.”

 

Ignoring the way his heart began to race, Kes tried on a smile of his own. “Then we can work the rest out as it comes along.” He reached up to caress Luke’s face, his smile widening as Luke didn’t find some silly, Jedi rule or guideline to gainsay him. “I love you. And no matter what, I’ll always be here . . . waiting for you.”

 

“Kes—”

 

“Luke.” Kes tilted Luke’s chin up, leaning down until their lips met, at which point Luke moaned so softly, so helplessly, so yearningly, Kes couldn’t help but press against him. Pull Luke’s small, wiry body into his arms and kiss all the doubts and what-if’s from his lips. Luke tasted like water, and something else subtle and sweet. There was, however, nothing either subtle or sweet about the way his hips pressed into Kes’s.

 

“My, my, Mr. Skywalker . . . is that a lightsaber on your belt, or are you just happy to see me?”

 

Luke threw his head back and laughed, and Kes took the opportunity to explore the delicate skin of his throat. “You’re a dick, Kes Dameron.”

 

“I’m a damned handsome and charming man, is what,” Kes said, nuzzling Luke’s Adam’s apple. “And I really, _really_ want you. Right now.”

 

Flash of heated blue eyes that then fluttered shut as Kes unbuttoned Luke’s dark blue shirt one tiny, stupid, fussy button at a time, trailing kisses downward. “What—kriffing _hell_ —what about dinner?”

 

“Eh, we can order out.” Kes ran his tongue teasingly around Luke’s left nipple.

 

“I dunno . . . Poe promised us the best _sofrito_ in the galaxy. I assumed it was a family recipe. . . .”

 

“It _is_. Which means Poe can make it _himself_ , for once.” Kes suddenly swung Luke up into his arms with a grunt, and the other man grabbed on tight, eyes flashing even in the hazy sunlight. Kes kissed the tip of his nose. “The first honest work he’ll have done in years.”

 

Luke laughed. “ _Such_ a dick . . . one who’s going to put his back out for a grand, but unnecessary gesture.”

 

“Shut up, and let me have my moment, Skywalker,” Kes said, carrying Luke toward the house.

 

All around them was the heavy, fragrant scent of the Tree’s blossoms, indigo pollen sticking to their skins, clothes, and hair long after they’d abandoned the Tree and environs for . . . relatively stable, flatter surfaces.

 

TBC


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War is over. The Republic was triumphant and, in the aftermath, has merged the Resistance into its military hierarchy. There is, but for a few insurgencies by remnants of the First Order, peace in the galaxy, at last—for however long it lasts. And on Yavin 4, the Force Tree . . . is in bloom. My first attempt at “sex-pollen made them do it.” But there’s sort of a plot, too. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Spoilers for Episode VII. Mpreg. Set post-TFA by approximately three years. Also, fair warning, now: This may go over nine parts. Either that, or there'll be a sequel(s) or something. This story is getting kind of a 'verse feel, the more I write it. But I'll be updating every couple of days, as I can, so . . . thanks for staying tuned :-)

**II**

 

“We’re home, Pop! There’d better be dinner left for us . . . or at least for _me_!”

 

Poe yelped as Finn swatted his ass then laughed, pulling his laughing husband close as they stumbled through the door, briefly letting hazy, orange sunset into the kitchen. Both of them were still a little shaky from their speeder race home with Rey and Chewie. Rey had, as usual, won, with Finn and Poe a close-ish second, and Chewie somewhat in the dust in third place.

 

Now, Rey was, at Chewie’s moaning request, looking over the speeder he’d ridden for defects, since there was no other possible way he could have come in so firmly in third place.

 

Snorting—Chewie had spent most of the afternoon in a pertha weed-den, and had refused to admit his reactions were certainly dulled by the experience—Poe stole a few kisses, edging his hands down the back of Finn’s trousers . . . until he noticed something.

 

“Hey,” he murmured into the current kiss, pulling back to look into Finn’s dark, distracted eyes. “It doesn’t smell like dinner in here. Why doesn’t it smell like dinner in here?”

 

“Really? _That’s_ what you wanna focus on, now, hotshot?” Finn asked, leaning in to nuzzle Poe’s neck and nibble that spot that turned Poe into mindless goo. And it did. Almost. But Poe was busy sniffing, like a hound on the scent.

 

“Baby, I—yes, _fuck_ , you know I _love_ it when you use your _teeth_ —can’t smell _any_ food _at all_. Not even _sofrito_ , and Pop woulda made that first to give it time to simmer,” Poe glanced around the military-neat kitchen. Not a thing was out of place. It didn’t look like the kitchen had _ever_ been used, let alone that day. “What the fuck. . . ?”

 

Finn groaned and, with one last nibble, looked up and around, blinking in surprise. “Huh. Weird.”

 

“Right?” Poe pursed his lips for a moment. “Maybe he took a nap and forgot. . . ? I mean, it’s hot as balls, today; the humidity alone is enough to knock a strong man down for the afternoon.”

 

“Meh, not even _this_ weather would knock down a Pathfinder. Especially not one as legendary as Kes Dameron,” Finn said with hero-worshiping certainty that made Poe roll his eyes.

 

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you have a crush on my Dad, Finn.”

 

Grinning, Finn shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for Dameron-men. But I’m _extra_ particular about them when they’re pilots.”

 

“Mm, you’d better be.” Poe allowed himself to steal one more kiss. “You think Luke’s still out communing with the Force Tree?”

 

“Probably.” Finn chuckled and sighed. “It’s an . . . interesting Tree. Even I can feel the . . . vibe it gives off. And I haven’t even touched it yet. Yeah . . . a very interesting Tree.”

 

“Especially now. All those pretty flowers and that _scent_!” Poe put his hands on Finn’s hips and swayed them, grinning like a madman, lack of _sofrito_ temporarily forgotten. “Later tonight, after everyone’s asleep, we’re gonna take a blanket out there and fuck under that tree.”

 

Finn gaped. “Uh. What?”

 

“Oh, yeah, baby. Gonna take that bottle of wine we brought with us, and drink and fuck under the stars.”

 

“You mean under one of the only known Force Trees in the universe? One that Luke Skywalker will probably still be communing with well into the night?” Finn raised an eyebrow. But Poe waved a hand dismissively.

 

“Nah, even Luke needs to sleep. Especially in this heat. Speaking of sleep—” Poe rolled his eyes. “Let’s go wake Pop so we can figure out what to order in, since it’s too late to start the _sofrito_ or much of anything else.”

 

“Poor Poe . . . no _sofrito_ till tomorrow night,” Finn cooed, kissing the corner of Poe’s pouting mouth. “Such a travesty.”

 

“Don’t make fun! I’ve been thinking about it for over a year!” Poe grumbled, taking Finn’s hand and leading him to the side stairs. “I’m never home till I’ve had Dameron’s secret-recipe _sofrito_.”

 

“Aw, I know, baby, I know. But just think,” Finn said as they trooped up the stairs—quietly—and down the second floor hall, to the back of the house. “It’ll taste even _better_ , tomorrow evening. Delayed gratification makes everything better.”

 

Poe glanced back at Finn as he raised his hand to knock on his father’s door. “I’m sorry, have you ever _met_ me?”

 

Rolling his eyes again, Finn sighed. “Yes, I forgot for a moment who I was dealing with.”

 

“Apparently. _Heyya, Pop? Wake up,_ ” Poe called in a whisper, knocking gently on the old-fashioned wooden door—no automatic or lock-panel doors in the Dameron house, except for the front, back, and side doors—at the same time as he turned the knob. “It’s dinner-ti— _yiiy_!” He let out a tiny shriek.

 

“Kriff me!” Finn breathed into his hand-covered mouth, wide-eyed and backing away from the door till he hit the opposite wall.

 

Then Poe was pulling the door quietly shut, gaping like a fish and rather wide-eyed, himself. “What the—”

 

“Uh. . . .”

 

“Finn?”

 

“Yeah, Poe?”

 

“Was . . . did I just see my father giving Luke Skywalker a B.J.?”

 

“Yes. Yes, you did.” A pause. “And you weren’t the only one who saw it.”

 

Poe blinked, his face set in a horrified rictus. “Did . . . did they even notice us, you think?”

 

“I dunno . . . you _did_ shriek like a frightened little old lady. . . .”

 

“I did _not_!”

 

“You did.” Finn nodded apologetically, clearly giving the matter some heavy thought. “But then, they were both obviously really into it. I don’t think they’d have noticed a _rathtar_ bouncing into the room. Especially Luke, I mean, your dad was _really_ going to town on him—”

 

“Ugh! Stop—that’s my _dad_ , Finn!” Poe hissed in an offended whisper, running a hand over his face. “Fuck, this is—I can’t even. I can’t even.”

 

They glanced at each other and, after a few moments, Finn shrugged, though there was more than a hint of shudder in it. “Let’s, uh—” he nodded toward the stairs. Poe, clearly still in shock, followed him back downstairs.

 

“Well!” Finn said brightly, halfway down the staircase. “At least the probability of Luke being out under the Force Tree you wanna fuck me under has lessened dramatically.”

 

Poe was the one to shudder, this time. “Cancel those plans, Finn, I think—I think my penis is broken forever, hon. I’m sorry,” he said solemnly, and Finn snorted.

 

“Your penis is _not_ broken forever, sweetheart.”

 

“I really think it is.”

 

“And _I_ think you’re being . . . a touch melodramatic.”

 

“ _Melodramatic_?!” Poe sputtered. “My father and Luke Skywalker are _fucking_ , Finn!”

 

“ _What_?”

 

Startled—for the second time in two minutes—Poe and Finn paused at the bottom of the staircase to see Rey and Chewbacca standing around the neat kitchen table as if waiting for food to magically appear.

 

Chewbacca seemed mildly amused—as he had seemed by everything since the pertha weed-den—and Rey looked gobstruck. There was a smear of grease just across the bridge of her nose and her hands were covered in oil and dirt.

 

“Did you just say that your dad and _Luke_ are—” she made a horrified, furrow-browed face. The same face she’d made, once upon a time, when she’d walked in on _Poe and Finn_ getting horizontal. “They’re—”

 

“Fucking?” Poe huffed ruefully, going to the cabinet above the sink, where Kes kept the bottom-shelf stuff. He reached for a bottle without even glancing at the label, and uncapped it. “Yeah, they are. Were. _May still be_ , right now, I dunno. They seemed pretty into it when Finn and I walked in on them. Fuck. I need a kriffing _drink_.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Finn said, appropriating the mostly full bottle of Corellian rum from Poe before he could take more than a swig. He gave it a moment of thought, took a swig, himself, then capped the bottle and put it back in the cabinet. “Kes and Luke are adults, and whatever they do in private is their business. If, at some point, they should choose to have a conversation about it with us, we’ll do them the honor of acting like the adults _we_ are, and _not_ go running and screaming into the night. Right?”

 

Poe shared a glance with Rey and Chewie, the former of whom shrugged limply and the latter merely nodded once, firmly. Finally, Poe nodded, too, still feeling shocked and a little queasy. Then they all looked at Finn, who met their gazes sternly before smiling as limply as Rey’s shrug. “Good. That’s . . . good. Now we’re acting civilized! Alright, let’s decide what to order in, okay? I’m hungry enough to eat a side of bantha!”

 

#

 

When Luke was a limp puddle of Jedi in Kes’s bed—not for the first time that afternoon and evening—Kes crawled up the bed and sprawled next to him, massaging his own aching jaw absently.

 

“You know,” Luke panted, half-laughing. “I’d forgotten how amazing your mouth is. Never let me forget that again.”

 

Grinning, Kes looked over at Luke to find he was being watched by sated, dazed blue eyes. Feeling justifiably proud of himself, Kes reached out to brush his fingers along Luke’s cheek. The Jedi’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into Kes’s touch with a sound that was close to a purr. “Hmm, not bad for a man fifteen years out of practice, huh?” Kes asked, not quite rhetorically, his voice rough and a bit hoarse.

 

Luke’s eyes opened, vulnerable and questioning. “Fifteen. . . ? _Kes_ . . . there hasn’t been . . . _anyone_ since the last time you and I. . . ?”

 

Shrugging, Kes settled on his back once more, closing his eyes. “Nah. You know me, Luke. I’m a one pilot-man. I knew you’d come back to me, even if it took the rest of our lives. And _that_ — _you_ —were and are something _very much_ worth waiting for.”

 

The bed shifted and when Kes opened his eyes, Luke was leaning over him, face as solemn as Kes had ever seen it. He cupped Kes’s face in his calloused hand and leaned down to kiss his forehead, then sat back a little, clearly searching for what he wanted to say.

 

“No one else for me, either,” he finally settled on, smiling that wry, self-deprecating smile. “No one else for me ever. Before you or after.”

 

Kes’s eyes widened. “You mean— _I_ was . . . your _first_?”

 

“And my only.” Luke laughed a little, his face coloring fetchingly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t guess the first night we were together?”

 

“Well . . . I could tell you weren’t overly experienced, but I had no _idea_ . . . fuck, Luke. . . .” Kes bobbed up to kiss Luke tenderly, possessively, then gazed into his eyes as if seeing him for the very first time. “You’ve been mine all this time.”

 

“Yeah.” Luke settled down in Kes’s immediately opened arms, half-sprawled on the larger man’s chest, metal hand curled over Kes’s heartbeat. “Always yours.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Luke.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For . . . for wasting so much kriffing _time_!”

 

“I could say the same thing. But I won’t, you know why?” Luke leaned up and kissed the underside of Kes’s jaw. “Because we were both grieving. You for Shara and then, when some time had passed, me for all the damage Snoke did through Ben. Our timing was just . . . off.”

 

“Bad timing, eh? Almost thirty years of missed chances, and that’s what it comes down to?” Kes snorted bitterly. “You figure since you’ve been such a friend to the Force, it would’ve brought us together a _little_ sooner!”

 

Chuckling, Luke cuddled closer. “I’m just glad it brought us together at all. The Force can be . . . well, fickle is the closest word I can find to describe its whims.” Sighing, Luke nuzzled Kes’s collarbone. “I’m just glad to have the time we’ve had and whatever time we’ll get.”

 

Heaving a sigh of his own, Kes kissed the crown of Luke’s head. “Yeah? Well, just so you know, I plan on living to be at least one hundred fifty, to maximize that time we’ve been given, so . . . you’re stuck with me for a long time, kiddo.”

 

“And here I thought the Force was my _friend_. . . .”

 

Kes tangled his fingers in Luke’s hair and tugged the other man’s head up toward his own, smothering Luke’s laughter with kisses.

 

They kissed and petted and rolled around until the setting sun had gone down completely, resulting in a hazy, purple twilight. Shortly after that, the house began to smell like food.

 

“The kids are back. And they’ve ordered out,” Kes murmured on Luke’s kiss-swollen lips.

 

“Must’ve. Something smells really _good_.” Luke’s interest shifted almost palpably from Kes, to the food-scents. “I’m _hungry_.”

 

“You’re _always_ hungry, Skywalker. Though I don’t know where you put it all,” Kes said, chuckling and brushing Luke’s messy hair out of his face. “If I ate as much as _you_ eat, I’d have to double-down on my exercise routine just to stay in any kind of shape!”

 

Luke grinned, running his hand up and down Kes’s chest. “Whatever your exercise routine, it’s really working. You’ve still got a gorgeous body, all tan and muscle-y.”

 

Kes heaved another sigh—a fake one this time, as he flexed his muscles and put on a gun-show that made Luke’s eyes grow wider. “My Jedi-boyfriend is _so_ shallow. He only loves me for my blowjobs and my muscles.”

 

“And let’s not forget your famous _sofrito_ , which I have yet to taste even after all these years,” Luke teased, sitting up. “But I’m willing to settle for take-out. _Tonight_ , anyway, seeing how the lack of _sofrito_ is . . . partially my fault.”

 

“ _All_ your fault,” Kes amended, sitting up, too, and wrapping his arms around Luke. “All your sexy fault.”

 

“How do you figure?” Luke demanded, moaning as Kes trailed kisses down from the nape of his neck.

 

“I was perfectly willing to go back to suffering my heartbreak in silence and make the best dinner you ever had, while doing so. But no, you had to tell me you love me and let me _touch_ you—of course once _that_ happened, the chances of me getting _any_ cooking done went down to zero.” Kes snorted, sliding his hands up and down Luke’s sides. “I think as an apology for distracting me, you should spend the rest of the night in bed with me.”

 

“Mm . . . sounds like a plan . . . _after_ we get some food.” Luke damn-near _giggled_ when Kes skated playful fingers across his sensitive ribs. “Stop it! No tickling! We have to take a shower and go get some food before my Padawan eats it all!” Luke turned his head and gave Kes a quick buss on the lips. “And . . . we’re going to need to have a talk with them about . . . us.”

 

Kes groaned. “ _Must_ we?”

 

“They . . . already know. Poe and Finn walked in on us when we were . . . otherwise engaged, then backed right back out broadcasting enough horrified surprise to be felt through the Force. I think Poe may be traumatized for life.” Luke’s tone was apologetic, but his eyes were twinkling merrily. And so, it took several moments—moments during which Luke hopped out of bed and strode naked to the master bedroom’s ‘fresher—for Kes to process what was said. In fact, by the time his mouth finished working soundlessly, to spit out actual words, Luke already had the shower running.

 

“Wait— _WHAT_?!”

 

#

 

The shower stopped running upstairs and everyone, heretofore silently eating, glanced at each other with various measures of dread.

 

When Poe’s eyes met Finn’s, Finn took his husband’s hand and squeezed it. “It’ll be okay, babe, I promise.”

 

“I know, I know, I just . . . wish I hadn’t _seen_ it.” Poe made a face. “Knowing is one thing. _Seeing_ is another.”

 

“Yeah. But don’t worry. In time, you’ll forget all about it.”

 

“Kinda doubt that,” Poe replied under his breath. A few silent minutes later, footsteps could be heard coming down the side stairs. Poe’s eyes narrowed as his father and Luke appeared—Kes leading the way down the stairs—holding hands. Kes was wearing a white wifebeater and plaid sleep pants. Luke was wearing one of Kes’s old camo t-shirts and a pair of Kes’s grey sweatpants, which he was holding up because they bagged so ridiculously on his slight frame.

 

They both paused at the bottom of the stairs and everyone in the kitchen looked at each other.

 

And no one spoke.

 

Finally, Kes put his arm around Luke’s shoulders, pulling the other man close, and Luke looked up at him with a warm smile.

 

Just then, BB-8 and R2-D2 rolled into the kitchen, beeping quietly amongst themselves, only to stop when they noticed the heavy silence in the room.

 

[What the kriff is _this_?] BB-8 demanded, its optical sensor swinging from the kitchen table to the stairs. [Hey, are you two finished boning, or are we going to be treated to more grunting and groaning and screaming tonight?]

 

Everyone’s mouth dropped open.

 

[Humans are _never_ done boning. Thought you’d have figured _that_ out, considering the humans you’re attached to.] R2’s sensor swung to Poe and Finn, the latter of whom blushed, and looked down. [Oh, wait—are things awkward now, maybe because everyone _finally_ knows these two’ve been fuck-buddies for, like, twenty-five years?]

 

“Twenty-five years?!” Poe exclaimed, his narrowed eyes narrowing further. Kes and Luke winced, but held their heads up, meeting the surprised gazes of their family.

 

“Yes. Twenty-five years . . . intermittently.” Kes sighed, shaking his head. “And we’re not fuck-buddies, R2. We’re . . . kriff, I _love_ Luke. I love him, Poe. With all my heart. Have for a long time.”

 

[Well, excuse the merry kriff outta me,] R2 said, for once actually sounding sincere and surprised. BB-8 whistled its agreement. Luke, meanwhile, was gazing up at Kes like he hung Yavin 4.

 

Poe’s eyes were practically squinting shut, and he put down his fork, but not his knife.

 

“That’s . . . great, Pop. Really great. So, Luke,” he began pleasantly, but with an edge to his voice that was plainly audible. And he was gripping his knife extremely tight. “What are your intentions toward my father?”

 

And, with all eyes and optical sensors on him, Luke looked around, flushed, and opened his mouth to reply.

 

TBC


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War is over. The Republic was triumphant and, in the aftermath, has merged the Resistance into its military hierarchy. There is, but for a few insurgencies by remnants of the First Order, peace in the galaxy, at last—for however long it lasts. And on Yavin 4, the Force Tree . . . is in bloom. My first attempt at “sex-pollen made them do it.” But there’s sort of a plot, too. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Spoilers for Episode VII. Mpreg. Set post-TFA by approximately three years. Sixxy’s endearment for Poe cheerfully, but respectfully stolen from ThatViciousVixen’s fic: “Somebody Loves You” (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5620774).

**III**

“Yeah, Mr. Big-shot Jedi,” Kes murmured into the waiting silence, pulling Luke against him and smiling down into those amazing, endless, ocean-blue eyes. “What’re your intentions toward me? Because if you’re just here for the amazing sex—”

 

“Ew! Pop! I’m sitting right here!” Poe exclaimed, offense and horror in his voice and every line of his body. But Kes only saw this from the corner of his eye. Most of him was focused on Luke’s eyes and that serene—yet mischievous—smile curving his still kiss-swollen lips.

 

“Well,” Luke began, just as serenely, just as mischievously as his smile, “the amazing sex is fantastic. Mind-blowing, in fact, but that’s not the main reason I’m here.” Chuckling a little when Poe made a far-too-realistic gagging-noise, Luke reached up and cupped Kes’s face in his metal hand, as gentle as a feather’s brush. “The amazing sex is icing on the cake. The cake being, of course, how desperately in love with you I’ve been since the day we met. I _love_ you, Kes Dameron. I am _in love_ with you. And if I have to break a few millennia of Jedi tradition to be with you and prove that love, then, well, I always thought _that_ particular rule, against fraternization of any kind, was pretty stupid.”

 

Kes’s heart felt like a sail with a strong, guiding wind in it. He pressed Luke’s hand against his cheek, kissing the cool alloy of his palm before pulling the Jedi against him for a kiss that Luke stood on his toes to receive and sighed breathlessly into.

 

They were so lost in the kiss, that they only barely heard Poe’s chair scrape back as he stalked to the side door and out of the house.

 

#

 

“Twenty-five years, Pop?”

 

The words fell from Poe’s lips as Kes sat next to him on the back porch. Poe had meant to go sit under the Force Tree—which, as a child, he’d always thought of as _his_ Tree, even though he wasn’t the slightest bit Force-sensitive—but for some reason, he couldn’t _bear_ to be under it, alone with his thoughts.

 

Thoughts that inevitably turned to his mother. To the late, great Shara Bey.

 

He still missed her . . . every day. The pain of it was, in a way, no less than it had been the day of her death, just . . . something he’d grown used to. Like missing a limb for so long, one forgot quite how it felt to have had it.

 

Besides him, Kes sighed. Poe knew his father had, for the longest time, felt the same way, only now. . . .

 

Now, if he was to be believed, that pain had, for him, been eclipsed by something brighter. Something most people never got to experience once in their lives, let alone twice.

 

“Look, I know this is . . . difficult for you to hear, kiddo, but—”

 

“You’ve been in love with him since—what, before mom died?” Poe asked, uncertain as to whether he felt betrayed or angry or sad or disillusioned or . . . some terrifying mix of all of those. He looked at his father, tears in his eyes. For once, staring off at the Force Tree, his face set in lines of consternation, Kes Dameron looked his full sixty-five years, instead of a well-kept fifty.

 

“No, kid, I—” Kes shook his head and sighed again. “When your mother was alive, and even when she wasn’t, for a good while after, there was only room in my heart for two people: her and you. But Luke . . . at first, he was just there when I needed someone, anyone, to make me feel less like I went into that grave with Shara. But then . . . it was _less_ about not feeling alone and more about _being with him_.” He looked up into Poe’s eyes as if willing him to understand. Poe wasn’t sure he even wanted to. “He wasn’t just a stop-gap for loneliness, anymore. He was _Luke_ : the cute, funny, goofy, smart, magnetic, wonderful, sweet, beautiful, talented, kind guy that I caught myself thinking about and smiling about and missing when he wasn’t here. I still loved Shara—and always will . . . so much, that I can’t even _breathe_ for missing her, some days—but there was room in my heart for Luke, too. And through him . . . more people than I ever thought I’d find myself caring about again. _Luke_ gave me that back, Poe. The ability to love again. He’s given me hope and happiness and so much more that I can’t even explain, and—”

 

Laughing a little, Kes looked down again, right index finger rubbing his left eyebrow. “Kriff, listen to me, mooning over Luke Skywalker like some teenager with a crush on his hero,” he said a touch self-mockingly.

 

Poe’s mouth quirked into a smirk. “Old man’s got no game.”

 

Kes snorted. “This old man’ll kick your lazy, young ass.”

 

“You’re all talk,” Poe dismissed, his smirk turning into a sad smile. “If something ever took Finn from me . . . I don’t think I’d ever love anyone else again. Not the way I love him.” _If something ever took Finn away from me, I’d probably follow right after._

 

“And I don’t,” Kes said simply. “I _don’t_ love Luke the way I loved Shara. But I love him just as much, and just as intensely. I _need_ him. He will never replace or eclipse your mother in my heart, kiddo. It’s just that my heart got _bigger_. Big enough to fit Luke, too.

 

“Can . . . do you think your heart can do the same, Poe? For _both_ our sakes?”

 

Surprised, Poe glanced over at his father again, unable to bear the hope and love in those pale hazel eyes—Poe had gotten Shara’s dark brown ones, but set under Kes’s fierce brows—and found himself glancing up at the overcast sky for the few stars he could see.

 

“I want you to be happy, Pop,” he finally said.

 

“But?”

 

“ _But_ . . . are you sure you can deal with this whole thing? Loving a _Jedi_? Loving _Luke Skywalker_ in particular? I mean—he’s a celebrity at best and a marked man at worst. He’s always gonna be traveling and flying off into danger. . . .” Poe was the one to sigh, this time. “You’ll never have as much time with him as you want. You’ll always be worrying about him. _Always_. Is that the life you want?”

 

“I want a life with Luke, so . . . it’s the life I’ll have to get used to. Hell,” Kes’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest. “It’s not that different from the life Shara and I had, way back when. Not that different from the life you and Finn had until recently.”

 

Poe winced. He’d always felt guilty flying off on missions, leaving Finn behind. Had felt guilty even when Finn would be off on missions of his own. Had dreaded, even more than the idea of losing Finn, the idea of himself being lost to Finn. He’d feared leaving the person he loved more than life itself behind, alone and grieving.

 

Shaking his own head, Poe looked at his father again. Kes was staring at the Force Tree, a little smile playing about his lips, as if he was remembering something pleasant.

 

“He won’t give up trying to save the galaxy just to stay here with you.”

 

“No,” Kes agreed.

 

“Are you . . . are you gonna go with him? On his . . . missions?”

 

Kes looked down once more. “If Luke decides he ever needs an extra two hundred fifteen pounds of hired muscle to get between him and trouble . . . I wouldn’t turn him down.”

 

Poe frowned as it really began to settle within him and process: his father _loved Luke Skywalker_. “You’d die for him.”

 

Kes nodded. “Not just because I love him, Poe. But because I _believe_ in him and what he’s trying to do for us all.”

 

“And what’s _that_?”

 

Kes’s smile was a little proud, a little sad. “Why, nothing less than save the galaxy.”

 

“Huh.” Poe snorted, smiling, too. “Kriff, Pop. You know I’m glad you found someone to make you happy. I only ever wanted you to be happy and safe. I’d just hoped that . . . after all the fighting you’ve had to do, all the worrying and waiting, that when you found someone, you’d be able to relax, take it for granted that everything would be . . . nice. Secure. Easy.”

 

“Hah! Where’s the fun in that?” Kes demanded, slinging an arm around Poe’s shoulders and pulling him close to kiss the top of his head. He only hugged Poe closer when Poe made a grossed-out sound and tried to shrug him off.

 

“Sheesh, why can’t you be like all my friends’ parents: old and boring? Why do you have to be a badass even though you’re, like, a million years old?”

 

“That’s _half_ a million years old, to you, sonny.” Kes laughed, loosening his grip on Poe, but not letting him go. “Kriff, you think Luke and Rey have already decimated dinner? I kinda worked up an appetite, today.”

 

“Ugh, _Pop. Please_.” Poe groaned, burying his face in his hands. “That’s way more information that I ever needed or wanted.”

 

“I feel as if I’m finally getting revenge for that time I came home to find you and Lucio Gosse having sex next to the coffee table.” Kes shuddered dramatically and Poe blushed. “Talk about scarred for life!”

 

“Pop, that was _twenty_ _years_ ago!”

 

“There’s no expiration date on sweet, sweet vengeance.” Kes paused. “You know, that little deadbeat still asks after you.”

 

“Really?” Poe blinked, then pursed his mouth a little, humming. “Didja tell him I’m married, now?”

 

“I did and honestly? That didn’t seem to cool his jets at all.”

 

“Well, that oughta make _Finn_ happy, should we run into Lucio in town or something.” Poe grimaced. “Anyway, enough of that, it’s still hot and humid as balls out here. Let’s go finish dinner, while there’s still some dinner left to finish, yeah?”

 

Poe stood up and offered Kes his hand. Kes grinned up at him and took it, standing instantly. “Sounds like a plan, to me, kiddo.”

 

Clapping each other on the back, they climbed the porch and went back inside, arms still around each other. And there was no missing the blindingly lit-up look of love and relief on Finn’s face when they entered the kitchen. No missing the exact same look on _Luke’s_ boyish, usually reserved face.

 

 _I guess that makes us both very lucky men_ , Poe thought almost grudgingly, grinning at Finn and nodding once, amicably, at Luke, who looked quite surprised. He even blushed, his brow furrowing as if he still expected some sort of rebuke or expressed displeasure. When none was forthcoming, he finally returned the smile—not as blinding as it’d been for Kes, but breathtaking, nonetheless.

 

_Lucky men, indeed._

 

#

 

Poe was woken up later in his old room—at 01:37 hours, according to the digital clock on his night table—to Finn kissing the center of his sternum, one hand resting lightly on Poe’s already-interested cock. Moaning softly, Poe ran his hands over Finn’s hair, occasioning a chuckle from the other man.

 

“See?” Finn whispered, tongue dipping into Poe’s belly button and causing a prolonged shiver. “Told ya your penis wasn’t broken forever.”

 

“You’ll just go to any lengths to be right.” Poe hauled Finn up to him by the biceps, rolling on top of him carefully to kiss that sweetly smug smile off Finn’s full, soft lips. He pinned Finn’s arms to the narrow bed by the wrists and nuzzled his neck. “Though I can’t say I _mind_ you being right, this time.”

 

Finn hissed as Poe squeezed his wrists challengingly, sinking his teeth into the flesh above Finn’s jugular vein. The sound Finn made—breathless and long, high and helpless—went straight to his cock and always would. Poe chuckled darkly, settling on top of his husband, pushing his erection against Finn’s. “Gonna fuck you, sweetheart. Till dawn. Till you can’t remember what it feels like _not_ to have my cock in you.”

 

Finn arched against Poe with a deep, sexy purr. “I expect no less. And I believe I was promised a more exciting location than your old bedroom. . . .”

 

Blinking, Poe was blank for a moment before remembering: the Force Tree. The blanket. The fancy Coruscant wine he’d brought with them.

 

He began to grin and Finn’s grin answered him. Sitting up, Poe pulled Finn up with him, into his arms for another kiss, promising and possessive. “C’mon.”

 

It wasn’t too terribly tough to make their way down to the first floor without hitting any creaky spots or whining floorboards. Once in the kitchen, Finn with Poe’s blanket wrapped around his half-naked, onyx-perfect body, Poe retrieved the now-chilled bottle of fancy wine—Kriff knew _he_ wasn’t partial to the stuff, but his husband was a sucker for a good bottle of red—and a couple glasses, and took Finn’s hand. They made their way to the side door, not really paying attention to where they stepped or the way ahead. They really only had eyes for each other, but a quiet beep stopped them halfway to the door.

 

Poe started, then grinned. “Oh, it’s you, Sixxy. Haven’t seen you since we got here. How’s it goin’?” he asked the older droid as it trundled into the hazy light coming in from the window next to the door.

 

The R6 unit beeped stolidly, quietly. Unlike BB-8 and R2, it tended to have some regard for the other beings in its vicinity trying to rest. [I am quite well and in good repair, [Little Comet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5620774). And you and your mate? Hello, Friend Finn.]

 

Poe blushed and smiled at his mother’s old endearment, something she’d called him since he started to walk—well, _run_ , really—in Sixxy’s beeps. He honestly couldn’t remember the droid ever calling him anything else.

 

“Hello, Sixxy. We’re good,” Finn said warmly. Both man and droid were notoriously fond of each other, something Sixxy had never been about any of Poe’s few lovers who actually made it to the bring-them-home stage. But Finn and Sixxy could chat all day, if one let them. Which Poe wasn’t about to. Not just now.

 

“Yeah, we’re good, but we’re gonna grab some alone-time under the Tree before Luke hogs it all.” Poe waggled his eyebrows at the droid and could almost sense its amusement. Its optical sensor swung back toward Finn.

 

[[Little Comet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5620774) takes after Friend Shara in spontaneity and recklessness,] Sixxy said in a tone that could only be wistful, even coming from an older model droid. [See to it he doesn’t keep you out past dawn, Friend Finn. The atmosphere can take on a chill just before the sun rises.]

 

“Roger that, Sixxy,” Finn said, leaning his cheek on Poe’s shoulder and squeezing his hand. Poe snorted, raising their linked hands to kiss their knuckles.

 

“Trust me, Six, I won’t be lettin’ my man get cold any time soon. Night-night.” Another eyebrow waggle, and Poe was pulling Finn past the R6 unit, which beeped its good nights softly, before heading down the hall toward Kes’s den.

 

Poe stole a brief kiss from Finn’s tempting lips, then tugged him to the door.

 

#

 

Once outside, they made for the Force Tree, Finn’s eyes widening as they got closer, his steps slowing. Poe glanced back at his husband, somewhat concerned. “Something wrong, love?”

 

Finn’s dark, strong-featured face was almost confused as he stared up at the Tree. “Nothing . . . _wrong_. Just . . . strange. It feels like . . . it knows we’re here. Like it knows who we are and it’s . . . welcoming us.”

 

“Welcoming us, hmm?” Poe asked after a minute, catching a falling white and indigo blossom, and tucking it behind Finn’s ear, garnering a fond smile. “Well, then, let’s not waste that welcome.”

 

“You’re so mono-focused.” Finn laughed.

 

Poe wrapped his arms around Finn’s back, careful of the glasses and the bottle of wine. His free hand settled on the muscular curve of Finn’s divine ass, squeezing with proprietary anticipation. “Damn right, I am, baby. And you _love_ that mono-focus.” He turned them so that Finn’s back was facing the Tree and pushed his husband up against it. Finn gasped, eyes widening again. Then they were closing as Poe kissed him again, wanton and slow. After letting the blanket fall, Finn wrapped his arms around Poe’s neck and the pilot began to grind against him, slowly, at first, then faster and harder.

 

Finally, Poe pulled away, the both of them breathing hard as they stared at each other hungrily.

 

Then Poe was kneeling at Finn’s feet, not breaking eye contact as he placed the wine and glasses down out of the way, where they were promptly forgotten for the next while. Then he was gathering the blanket and spreading it out at Finn’s feet, still watching as Finn bit his lower lip and smiled the vulnerable, tender smile only Poe ever saw.

 

He held up his hand and Finn took it, kneeling on the blanket. Poe joined him and they kissed, hands roaming over bare backs and under the waistbands of pajama bottoms. Soon, they were prone on the blanket, those pajama bottoms pushed down and kicked off—only after Finn remembered to remove the tube of lube from the left pocket of his bottoms—into the grass.

 

Poe let a generous dollop of lube warm in his hand as he kissed his way down Finn’s muscular chest and ridiculous abs—it was enough to give Poe a complex, if not for the fact that those abs were _aaaaaaalll_ for him—then began stroking Finn’s thick cock till the other man’s hips began to jerk and stutter up off the blanket.

 

“Please, Poe. . . .” Finn hitched, eyes closed tight, head tossing. Poe kissed the soft, quivering skin of Finn’s inner thighs.

 

“Please, _what_ , sweetheart? Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you _everything_.”

 

“Need . . . kriff, need you inside me.” Finn’s eyes opened, shining and wild. “I don’t wanna come until you’re inside me, but I’m not sure how long I can hold off, at this rate.”

 

Poe smiled. It _had_ been a couple days since the last quick tumble they’d had before leaving for Yavin 4. And Finn had a delightfully quick refractory period, anyway, after the initial edge was taken off his desire. Poe had discovered that it was ridiculously easy for him to get Finn to raise wood.

 

He’d more than once _talked_ Finn hard, and to the point of coming and beyond.

 

“Okay, baby, gotta prepare you, first,” Poe said gently, knowing that in this state, Finn was almost beyond understanding the need for preparation. But as tight as Finn was, they’d both regret it if Poe tried to skip _that_ important step.

 

A half-minute later, Poe was sliding his lube-slippery index finger into Finn’s hot, tight body, gentling the other man’s thigh as he arched up slightly off the blanket.

 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so _beautiful_ ,” he whispered, searching for that bundle of nerves that’d turn Finn into a mindless slave to his own pleasure. He found it pretty quickly and Finn gasped into the night as Poe brushed that spot tantalizingly, torturously, before adding his middle finger. Finn groaned: half-pleasure, half-pain, his body nonetheless clenching around Poe’s fingers in unmistakable welcome.

 

“Now, Poe . . . _please_ , _now_. . . .” Finn began chanting, between pants and biting his lip. His eyes were closed again, tears nonetheless leaking out.

 

Poe nodded, then said: “Okay,” when he remembered Finn couldn’t see him. He withdrew his fingers, hoping like hell he’d prepared Finn enough with only two fingers not to hurt the other man beyond the thick edge of pain he usually liked with his pleasure. “How do you want it, baby? On your back or on your stomach?”

 

“Want you as deep as I can get you,” Finn moaned, and before Poe could more than think: _Stomach, it is_ , Finn was opening his eyes and turning onto his stomach. “ _Fuck me, Poe_.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Poe breathed at the endlessly glorious sight of his husband, ass up and ready— _begging_ —for his cock. Then he was grabbing their pajama bottoms and cramming them under Finn’s hips to get a little extra lift. “This ain’t gonna be a marathon fuck.”

 

“ _Really_ don’t care. _Hurry_. . . .”

 

“You’re probably gonna thank me for not when you can still walk tomorrow, love.”

 

Poe lubed his leaking, aching, red cock, then lined it up to Finn’s ass, holding him open until he slotted against Finn’s lube-shiny, puffy pink hole. He took a shaking breath and began the slow push _in_.

 

Around them, unnoticed by either man, blossoms began to fall in a gentle rain, covering them with petals and pollen, painting their skins with indigo and white. When Poe bottomed out in Finn’s body, for long moments, he could only pant, his face resting on Finn’s nape as he inhaled Finn’s clean, musky scent and the scent of the blossoms that covered and surrounded them.

 

“Oh, _baby_ , you’re _so_. . . .” there was no way to finish that sentence that would’ve done Finn justice. So Poe settled for wrapping an arm around Finn’s waist, tight-tight, and pulling out of him, only to drive himself back in hard and implacably fast. Finn wailed, spreading his legs wider and Poe did his best to fuck his way to Finn’s core. To touch the center of his husband, his Finn, his bundle of sweetness and light and perfection.

 

Poe tried—chased that center for all he was worth, but in the end, as always, never seemed to reach it . . . not that he would ever stop trying. This time, however, he felt closer to reaching it than he usually did, and couldn’t figure out where he ended and Finn began. Not that it mattered. He could hear Finn gasping and sobbing—not an uncommon occurrence when Poe made it _really_ good for him—and could feel the mini-convulsions in his husband’s body that meant Finn was on the cusp of coming—

 

Poe ran his hand down to Finn’s straining, dripping cock, down to his heavy balls, and past them, to the thin skin of his perineum, tugging on it just a little sharply. “Let go . . . _come for me_ , Finn.”

 

Finn came with a ragged, desperate yell, squeezing Poe’s cock so tight, for a moment, _he_ couldn’t come, he was being clamped down on so tight.

 

Then Poe was wrapping both arms around Finn’s waist and hauling the other man upright, till Poe was sitting on his heels and Finn was sitting in his lap. The shift in position, and gravity, itself, took Poe even deeper, and not slowly. Finn let out a hoarse whimper, his muscles loosening again in the ultimate and most intimate surrender.

 

In the moment before Poe came, harder than he ever had in his life, he wondered if he’d survive the experience. He wasn’t sure that he’d mind if he didn’t.

 

Then everything was erased by an orgasm that crashed through him like a rogue planet knocked off its course. His universe was nothing but exploding white light . . . then a restful, velvet-soft void dotted by more and different stars than he’d ever seen in his X-Wing.

 

As the last of the blossoms fell from the Force Tree, Poe, his arms still wrapped tight around Finn, toppled to the blanket. Even half-unconscious, their hands groped toward each other, linking together tight.

 

And they slept, dreaming sweetly under a blanket of blossoms.

 

TBC


End file.
